


makes me feel a little bit closer to you

by tamquams



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon Compliant, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, POV Ronan Lynch, Pining, Rated T for language, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Ronan-Complaint Language, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, adam is wearing ronan's hoodie and it does things to ronan, not necessarily SEXUAL things. just. THINGS., ronan lynch is a gay MESS, sleeping, takes place vaguely during BLLB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23079358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquams/pseuds/tamquams
Summary: “Shh,” murmured Adam, and Ronan realized he was already half-asleep. He turned on his side, rested a hand very softly against the blanket directly on top of Ronan’s bicep. “You’re warm. You’re like a furnace.” He paused, his eyelids fluttering, and then turned his face to hide it partially in the pillow. “Stay.”Adam is wearing Ronan's hoodie and falls asleep next to him. Featuring light banter and flirting, gay pining, and eleven different uses of the word "fuck."
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 40
Kudos: 531





	makes me feel a little bit closer to you

**Author's Note:**

> howdy!!! i've been reading & writing so much angst lately that i just needed to write some shameless fluff. it was 4am and my brain really said "write some pynch fluff" so i did. hope you like it!

Ronan was completely and utterly royally _fucked_.

He had known he was pretty fucked for a while, had accepted it a long time ago. He had admitted it to himself, _Okay, fine, maybe I like Adam Parrish. Just a little bit. Just a tiny, tiny bit._

Except nothing that Ronan felt could ever be described as ‘tiny.’

Ronan’s code of honesty did not cover his thoughts, and so he had no problem with lying to himself so long as the words were never said aloud. Was an unspoken lie really a lie at all, or rather an omission? _Lying by omission is still lying, Ronan,_ somebody like Gansey or Declan might say, but Ronan was not very much like Gansey or Declan at all, and so he allowed it.

But this — this was so big that even Ronan’s subconscious couldn’t ignore it anymore. He was really, stupendously, _fucked_.

He was _fucked_ , because it was seven in the morning on an oddly-chilly September Saturday, and he was just blinking himself awake, and Adam Parrish was sitting at his desk _wearing Ronan’s hoodie_. It was obviously Ronan’s — a little too large, a little too soft, a little too expensive to be an item from Adam’s wardrobe — but if Adam noticed, he didn’t let it show. He was staring at the textbook in front of him with such fervor that one might think it was spelling out the truths of the universe rather than explaining in agonizing detail the events of a long-ago battle whose warriors had been dead for centuries.

Ronan was fucked. He was fucked. He was deeply, irreparably _fucked_ , because seeing Adam in his clothes was _doing something to him_. 

Ronan couldn’t remember taking the sweatshirt off — it was cold enough in the apartment that he found himself wishing that he was still wearing it, but he refused to ask Adam to hand it over. He must have shucked it upon his arrival at St. Agnes the night before and left it somewhere where it might get mixed up in Adam’s clothing, because Adam sure as hell would never wear Ronan’s clothes without asking first. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t wear Ronan’s clothes even if everything he owned was destroyed and his choices were wearing Ronan’s sweatshirt or going to school naked; his pride was stupid and nonsensical like that. No, Ronan was never going to get to see Adam in his clothes again, so he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. 

Which, it would turn out, might not be very long at all. Much to his embarrassment, Ronan had only been staring at Adam for about two minutes before he sneezed, suddenly and much too loudly for the early-morning quiet of the apartment.

In his desk chair, Adam jolted, which was a much different reaction from a wince, Ronan had learned. He had been observing Adam long enough to know that sudden noises caused _jolts_ , and sudden movements caused _winces_ , and sudden touching caused _flinches_. He knew it was slightly — probably _more_ than slightly — creepy, but he genuinely liked to study Adam’s habits and reactions, the way his body moved and words rolled off his tongue. It was kind of like studying Latin, in that it was completely useless in the real world and strangely enticing to Ronan and only Ronan.

“Bless you,” said Adam, a smirk playing across his lips even as his brows furrowed at the page in front of him. He lifted a hand and grabbed at a pen without really looking; his fingers missed the cup of writing utensils completely on the first try, barely managed to grasp a pen on the second. He jotted something haphazardly in the margins of the notebook on the edge of the desk, and then turned his attention to Ronan suddenly and without explanation.

Ronan raised an eyebrow, crossing his bare arms across his chest. He was freezing, but he had his leather jacket balled up under his head as a pillow, and his hoodie was otherwise occupied, so he just hugged his limbs a little closer to his body. “Something on your mind, Parrish?” he asked after a moment, hoping his voice sounded snarkier than he felt.

“Nah,” Adam drawled, chewing absently on the end of his pen. Ronan’s eyes followed the movement for a second before he cut them away, but it was too late; Adam was smirking harder, a challenge in his eyes. 

“It’s too fucking earlier for this,” Ronan huffed, and without thinking about it, he climbed into Adam’s bed and slid under the ratty blanket, letting his buzzed head sink into the thin pillow. Adam somehow seemed even more amused; his smirk gave way to a full-blown grin, and Ronan just scowled in reply.

“What’re you doing?” Adam chuckled, the sound low in his throat. Ronan turned onto his side so he was facing Adam.

“It’s cold as hell in here,” he grumbled, holding the blanket tightly to his arms.

Adam scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I thought Hell was hot?” he mused.

Indignant, Ronan pulled the blanket up higher, till all that was visible were his eyes and the top of his head. The other end of the blanket skirted his toes. “The final circle is actually a frozen wasteland,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Adam laughed at that, a real laugh, not one of those small things he gave away to Gansey and Blue for free. The way he laughed with Ronan was something different, something fiercer and freer and more _real_. Something so beautiful, Ronan couldn’t even replicate it in his dreams. Adam shook his head, smiling too hard. “That’s _Dante’s Inferno_. That’s not the Bible.”

Ronan gave him a very slow, unamused blink. “It could be in the Bible, too. You wouldn’t know, you heathen.”

Still shaking his head, Adam returned to his studying, but every few minutes he glanced at Ronan, and Ronan just looked back.

Finally, after what felt like _forever_ but really couldn’t have been more than an hour, Adam closed his textbook and popped his neck, then stood and stretched his arms above him. His eyes were closed, and Ronan let his eyes rove his slender frame openly for a few seconds, even if he couldn’t really admire his body through the bagginess of the hoodie. He still looked _good_ , though, in the way that Adam Parrish always looked good — sort of like he were some immortal being fallen from the sky rather than a scholarship student at a pretentious all-boys private school.

When he opened his eyes, Adam was looking right at Ronan. Ronan did not look away.

“Move over,” Adam yawned after a second, kneeling down on his mattress and pulling the blanket up and sliding in beside Ronan, which, _oh_. Ronan had been coming to St. Agnes for a couple of months, had been badgering Adam all night and then falling asleep on his floor and leaving upon waking, but he had never been in the bed at the same time as Adam. Adam had offered him the bed a million times and he had refused, and Adam had offered to share the bed and he had refused, and now, here was Adam, in Ronan’s hoodie, their sides touching in the suddenly-too-small twin bed.

“I can move—” Ronan tried, but Adam swatted him gently with the back of his hand.

“Shh,” murmured Adam, and Ronan realized he was already half-asleep. He turned on his side, rested a hand very softly against the blanket directly on top of Ronan’s bicep. “You’re warm. You’re like a furnace.” He paused, his eyelids fluttering, and then turned his face to hide it partially in the pillow. “Stay.”

Ronan swallowed hard, and then immediately winced when he realized Adam probably felt or heard it. His arm tensed and then relaxed under Adam’s touch, and his stomach was doing fucking backflips, and his heart was beating out of his goddamn chest. Beside him, Adam’s breathing was even, his lips parted slightly, all of the lines of his face relaxed as he dipped into sleep. He had never been like Gansey or Ronan, never had a problem falling asleep — he was an insomniac by choice, forcing long nights and early mornings on himself for the sake of work or school. When given the opportunity to sleep, Adam _slept._

Lately, he had been sleeping even less than usual, refusing to cut down on his hours at any of his jobs and instead just piling more responsibilities on top of each other in the most exhausting balancing act Ronan had ever witnessed. Adam’s average day usually included work, and then school, and then work at another job, and then work at _another_ job, and then searching for Glendower, and then doing miscellaneous tasks for Cabeswater, and then doing homework, and then _maybe_ sleeping for an hour or two. Rinse and repeat. He was snagging naps in the backseat of the Pig on the way to Cabeswater and in their booth at Nino’s while they waited for their food. He was falling asleep on Ronan’s shoulder and getting away with it, drawing strange looks from Blue. It was only by a string of miracles that Adam actually had an entire day off of school _and_ work _and_ the quest for Glendower, and Ronan had been hoping he might use it for sleep. It was because of this and _only_ this, Ronan told himself, that he didn’t pull away and tell Adam to fuck off.

Adam slept like the dead. He slept like a goddamn dream creature whose dreamer was dead, as still and quiet as Ronan’s own mother had been at the Barns for the better part of a year. It would have been unnerving if it weren’t so relieving to see him actually rest rather than micro-nap in the grass just outside of Cabeswater. Ronan considered going to sleep as well, but then thought better of it — Adam’s hearing ear was pressed against his pillow, so if Ronan brought something dangerous back from a dream, Adam might not wake up until it was too late.

So Ronan stared at the ceiling, and he thought about the warmth of Adam pressed against his side, and he watched the shadows cross over the ceiling and the wall across the room, and he thought about Adam’s hand on his arm, and he counted all of the black objects in the room, and he thought about Adam’s mouth so close that their lips would brush if Ronan so much as turned his head. He considered lifting his hand and letting it touch Adam’s, and was still considering it when Adam’s alarm went off.

Adam shot out of bed like a bullet, smacking his hand down on top of his alarm clock with a ferocity Ronan had to smile at. Adam swore at the clock under his breath, rubbed the back of his hand against his left eye like a sleepy child, and then turned back to Ronan with a frown.

“Forgot to turn off my alarm,” he explained unnecessarily, his voice rough with sleep. “Sorry.”

“Didn’t wake me anyway,” Ronan hummed, sitting up. “But I should go.” He hated saying it, hated the look that flickered across Adam’s face, but it was true. He had chores to do at the Barns, animals to feed, and he really should have been out there at dawn; he had already stayed much longer than he could afford. Trying not to grimace, he slid out of bed and started pulling his boots on.

Adam was quiet as he got back into the bed, wrapping himself in the blanket as if he was trying to absorb the warmth Ronan had left. Ronan tried not to think about it too much. The apartment had shitty heating, that was all. It wasn’t a personal comment on Adam wishing that he could stay. It wasn’t that deep.

His knees cracking, Ronan stooped to grab his leather jacket from the floor and then remembered something. “Uh, Parrish,” he said uncertainly, turning to Adam with a look that was half-uncomfortable and half-amused, “can I have my hoodie back?”

“Huh?” Adam asked, blinking a few times. He was already falling back into sleep, but he propped himself up on one elbow to give Ronan a dazed look. “Whatdya mean?”

“My hoodie,” Ronan repeated, humor chasing his remaining discomfort away. He gave Adam a lopsided smirk. “You’re wearing my hoodie.”

Adam’s face flushed daylily pink. He looked down at the black sweatshirt in horror, suddenly a thousand times more awake, and bolted upright so quickly that you’d think somebody had pulled a gun on him. “Shit,” he said, pulling the sweatshirt over his head hard enough to bring his shirt halfway up with it. Ronan swallowed and tried not to stare. “Shit, shit, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ronan said, masking his honesty with a sharklike smirk. “You can keep it if you want.”

“Fuck off.” Adam pulled it the rest of the way over his head and then carefully pulled the sleeves out so it wasn’t inside-out. He folded it messily and then held it out for Ronan. “Here.”

Ronan was still smirking as he took it in his hands, shook it out, and then pulled it over his own head. The inside was still warm, and he tried not to think about it. Instead, he just flashed his eyes at Adam. “Smells like you,” he commented, not unkindly.

Adam blushed harder, if it was possible. “Shut up,” he groaned, throwing himself backward against his pillow. “Get out of here. I have sleep to catch up on.”

Ronan was still grinning as he turned the doorknob. “Sweet dreams, Parrish,” he said over his shoulder, and he stepped over the threshold and closed the door softly behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed! as always, you're more than welcome to come interact with me on tumblr, i'm @wespers :) p.s. title comes from the song 'hoodie' by hey violet, which is a breakup song, but whatever.


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